


Tchaikovsky With Tea

by overcastcat



Series: Ineffable Advent [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, Intoxication, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overcastcat/pseuds/overcastcat
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley share a night in with tea (and a healthy bit of wine) and talk while the Nutcracker Suite works its magic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Advent [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561327
Kudos: 9





	Tchaikovsky With Tea

Aziraphale’s fingers trailed through his hair as he sipped Crowley’s latest vintage. Crowley couldn’t help but smile a bit at the way his lips quirked at the taste. He found himself humming softly to the March of the Toy Soldiers as it rang out from his angel’s gramophone with such richness one would think he’d hired a full orchestra. He was two glasses of wine into a night on the angel’s sofa and didn’t plan on leaving until the next morning.

He let his fingers intertwined with Aziraphale’s as the march faded out and the long, sweeping notes of the Arabian dance begin to play. “I never understood the ballet,” he said, letting his thumb sweep back and forth over Aziraphale’s palm.

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“Well, in the one we saw a few decades back, in ‘67, it ends with Clara waking up from a dream!” He frowned, trying to piece together an explanation of how much it irked him. “It’s like there was never any real story to begin with, just her fever dream about nutcrackers and rats and women with obscenely large skirts.”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale pondered this as he twirled a lock of Crowley’s hair around his finger. “Then again, many classics are set up that way. Take  _ Alice in Wonderland _ , for instance.”

“I kinda hate that book.”

“It’s not  _ all _ bad.”

“Angel, you’ve got to admit that Lewis Caroll was off his rocker.”

“... Maybe so.” 

He yawned, and let himself curl into the angel’s stomach. Aziraphale sighed contentedly and returned to humming along with the gramophone. Then he sat up as if he’d come across some epiphany. “Crowley, I think the appeal of the dream ending is the same basic reason people like to dream in the first place: it’s a fantasy that’s far enough away from reality to feel secure.”

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up groggily. “Yeah?”

“I think so. Isn’t that why you like sleeping?”

Crowley paused. “Sleeping on its own is a nice sensation. The dreams are usually a bit of a gamble, actually. I can’t tell if they’re good or bad until I’m in the middle of one.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale mulled over that for a while as the Arabian Dance came to a close. He leaned down to Crowley and took his face in his hands with a touch so gentle, Crowley wasn’t sure he was really there, but his kiss was unusually fierce, as if he was wrestling his lips into submission. “You’ll have good ones tonight. I promise.”

Crowley buried his face into Aziraphale’s shirt collar to hide the blush creeping across his cheeks. His mouth twisted into a hesitant smile, he whispered a reply into his angel’s chest. “Thanks, love,”

Despite his best efforts, the angel must’ve heard it, because he replied, “No trouble, my dear,” with a smirk just barely held back from his voice.

He drifted off with the taste of wine on his tongue, the Waltz of the Snowflakes floating past his ears, and Aziraphale’s soft fingers twirling his hair.


End file.
